South and North
by Clockwork Counterfeit
Summary: He was stuck in the south forced to watch his people sold away. He was stuck in the north scrambling to fix his screw-up.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**- This is just a little two-shot I felt like writing.

The Turkish Abductions were when some Turkish pirates had a Danish sailor take them to Iceland in hopes that they would find treasure. Failing that, they just took around two, three, four hundred people and sold them into slavery on the Barbury Coast and Algeria back home. Around a decade later, the Danish managed to get around a dozen or so of them back via ransom.

I feel the need to apologize to Turkey for making him the villain. I swear, when he isn't the protagonist, he's the bad guy. Always. He's too good at it. All his fault. So, sorry, Turkey, I do love you, just so you know.

Also, did I genre fail?

Review?

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><p>He refused to speak. If he spoke, opened his eyes, questioned his situation out loud, then it would be real.<p>

This wasn't real. No way. There was no way that masked freak took him from his home. He was in his room, in Denmark's house, and Greenland and Faroe were in other rooms, and Norway and Sweden and Finland were there, and Norway was arguing with Denmark over coffee, and everything was happy.

Everything was happy.

So he stayed in the corner of the room (_not _a rich, giant, extravagant bedroom possibly a little on the gaudy side, that was just his imagination, right?), curled in a little ball of white hair and clothing, not even that funny talking puffin to accompany him. He didn't move, or intend to make any move. Just this little ball of miniature nation. Nothing else. In his room. Peaceful.

That is, until the loud creak of the door snapped him out of his reassurances, and he watched the door open with wide violet eyes.

The masked man stepped in, frowning while holding a flailing brunet older than himself. He flinched back and pressed himself against the wall as the masked guy tossed the flailing boy to the ground with a "You annoying brat!" A dark-skinned boy with a white cloth on his head at his side calmly entered through the door, followed by a black dog-like animal, watching as the brunet scrambled back up. The masked man shut the door with a slam, leaving the two boys in the room.

"Stupid Ottobastard!" The boy snapped. There was a certain quietness to his voice, even though he was clearly trying to be loud. "England's a better pirate than you any day!" The brunet glared at the door with a passionate ferocity. In his corner, he wondered what the point was in glaring at the door, when clearly the masked man had left and wouldn't even know.

The darker skinned boy made no move to stop him, instead attending to his dog. "Talking with Hungary again?"

"Hm? Yeah, why?" The brunet had transformed from a glaring, slightly murderous little demon to a more calm, lethargic-seeming boy.

It was startling, to say the least.

"Her word." They talked in accents he didn't recognize.

"Ottobastard?" The dark skinned one nodded. "Mm, yeah, she says it a lot. I'm tired." The brunet yawned, back turned to the little nation in the corner. "I can't believe my attack failed."

"Not really an attack."

"Is to."

"'Fly at giant masked man while flailing' is an attack?" There was an amused note in his voice.

The brunet paused, and then promptly ignored it. "Anyway, you're not in 'time out'," there was an audible grimace in his words, "What are you going to do?" No response. "Hello? Egypt?"

Except Egypt wasn't paying attention to the brunet anymore. He was staring at a cowering Iceland.

* * *

><p>"This is your fault." The voice was cold and unforgiving, matching the navy glare that belonged to the same person.<p>

"Norway, I didn't know!" His voice was tinged with desperation, dismay, and apology.

"This is your. fucking. fault."

"Norway, I didn't think—"

"Of course you didn't _think_. When do you ever fucking _think_? You're not exactly one to _think_, Denmark."

"You're not listening to me! He didn't tell me he was going to take Iceland!"

Norway's usually calm frown formed into gritted teeth. "Why the hell would he, you idiot? When someone wants to go somewhere, they don't use 'I'm going to kidnap your little brother' as an incentive! I know you're not all that bright, but _most _empires have more forethought than that!"

"I can fix this!"

"Really." It wasn't a question, and even Denmark didn't missed the dry, "I-don't-believe-you" tone. "Because you already screwed it up. So, _King of Scandinavia_," He also managed to not completely miss the sarcastic use of his (self-made) title, "how about you stay out of this because you can't _ever _do anything right?"

"Norway, I can get him back!" But Norway, not listening to the pleas for forgiveness, had already stormed out, calling out to his mystical friends in furious Norwegian.

Denmark ran a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on the ground. He knew it was his fault the Ottoman Empire took Iceland. And he knew he needed to fix this.

And probably before Sweden and Finland decided to lecture him on it, too. He already felt guilty, and facing Sweden's glare and Finland's disappointed voice, especially after everything last century, would not help him concentrate on the task at hand.

He was going to get Iceland back.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Egypt, what are you looking at?"<p>

Iceland tried to avoid the gaze of the quiet, curious nation, but Egypt seemed intent on meeting his eye. It was annoying.

"Child." Iceland inwardly pouted at that. He was _not _a child!

... Okay, so maybe he was.

"What child?"

"Behind you?" Iceland could sense impatience behind the calm tone.

The other one whirled around to see the small white-haired boy. He would have taken a step back away from the two forest-colored gazes if the wall hadn't been there.

"Hello?" The brunet said, smiling with a natural friendliness Iceland didn't trust, not after seeing him yell and flail and glare at the door.

"Light hair." Egypt commented. "He's from the north."

The brunet glanced back to Egypt and then to Iceland. "Right?" Iceland nodded cautiously. "What's your name?"

He didn't know whether or not to answer. He didn't really like to talk anyway, so he could always push it off onto Norway or Denmark. Plus, they always knew when it was best to answer something like that, so he didn't have to. In the end, he finally said, "I... Iceland."

"Iceland. I'm Greece, and he's Egypt."

"Anubis." Egypt said, gesturing to his dog-thing. "Jackal." Iceland was pretty sure he preferred 'dog-thing'. "How did you get here?"

"Masked man took me."

"Ottoman?" Greece clarified. Nod. "Always knew he had a thing for kids." Before the island nation could begin to figure out what that meant, the Mediterranian nation continued. "Are you hungry? We can go eat."

"Aren't you in time out?" Iceland asked, immediately regretting it upon seeing the friendly smile dissolve into a slightly annoyed frown, and then sheer relief when it went back to the smile, even if it was a bit more neutral.

"It's fine, Ottoman's an idiot, anyway."

* * *

><p>"Why not?" Denmark yelled, outraged.<p>

King Christian IV stayed calm in the face of his nation's anger, even after announcing they wouldn't make a move yet to speak with the Ottoman Empire about this. "Denmark, I know what happened was bad, but—"

"Yes! Yes, it was bad! And that is why we need to get the Icelanders back!"

Christian's eyes narrowed. He was insulted. Fucking perfect, as the sarcastic saying goes. "Denmark. Quiet."

"But—"

"_Enough_. We have enough to do as it is, especially recovery-wise. We will deal with this at another time. You're dismissed."

"Christian!"

"Denmark." The stern tone of voice made the boisterous nation flinch. "Wait for now. We will discuss the Icelanders again soon enough."

Denmark gave his boss one last glare before leaving the room. He was angry, disappointed, yes, very. But he was not hindered. No, never hindered, not in this.

If Christian wanted to talk about it soon enough, then soon enough it would be.

* * *

><p>During their wandering (Greece assured him they were <em>not<em> lost, they were simply taking a detour. Egypt was more doubtful, which fed Iceland's own doubt), they came across Ottoman Empire. He was talking to someone else, but Iceland couldn't understand the conversation—he wasn't exactly fluent in Turkish.

He did see a very large number of his people—at least half of the captives—being loaded into carriages. A few of them saw him and looked to him hopefully, but he didn't know why and thus didn't know what to do.

Ottoman was calling a goodbye when he noticed the trio. "What is it, brat?" It was clearly aimed towards Greece. He was probably glaring behind his mask.

"Where are they going?" Iceland asked, tilting his head in the direction of his people.

"Hm?" Ottoman might or might not have glanced back at the carriages—it was hard to tell given the mask. "They're going to the Barbary Coast, kid."

"Why?" Iceland didn't want to admit he knew the answer.

"Ah, that's not important." Ottoman waved a hand dismissively. Some form of comfort? "Now shoo, I have work to do."

"Slavery." Egypt stated, completely matter-of-fact. Ottoman froze. "They're being sold as slaves."

The Ottoman Empire sighed, maybe pityingly, maybe sympathetically. Iceland picked pitying, since it made him hate Ottoman more. "Yeah. Anyway, like I said, got work to do." He left without another word.

Iceland watched with stoic eyes as his people left for new, unwanted lives.

* * *

><p>"I don't see what's so difficult about this." Norway said, crossing his arms, setting his best glare on his verbal opponent.<p>

Christian IV was unimpressed. "Norway, I have other things I need to focus on right now."

"Iceland is our territory. As such, we should retaliate."

"And we will."

Norway's permanent kinda-frown became much more of a real frown. "It doesn't seem like that."

Denmark watched the exchange, hiding. So maybe he had felt a bit of hope when he saw Norway talking to their boss. And maybe that hope had crashed and burned when Norway was unsuccessful. Things like that happened. Right?

He hadn't tried to talk to Christian about it again, yet, instead writing a letter and sending it via his little bird to Ottoman to see _what the hell_.

He had yet to get a response.

_Iceland, maybe you'll find it, little bro. I'm sorry. You know that, right?_

Right?

* * *

><p><strong>AN**- So I totally wanted to use tiny-boy!Hungary in this fic, right? But I went back to make sure my canon was right and it wasn't and I was so mad... Life is unfair! So instead she got a mention and I replaced her with Egypt. Hungary, why couldn't you have been a boy for a bit longer? Speaking of which, Hungary got lots of Greek immigrants around this time. I take it to mean they were buddies.

Poor Denmark. He really should be careful. At least he fixes it in the end! Be positive, Den!

I kind of wanted to do mwahaha!Turkey, but I already felt bad that he had to be the villain, so... Yeah.

Reviews are loverly, no matter how brutal!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**- Thank you to all those who liked the story! I'd been toying with the idea for months, but only recently decided to actually try and write it, so I'm happy!

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><p>1637.<p>

Iceland watched every time another group of his people was sent off. Except once. The first time he learned where they were going. The second time he didn't watch, but then guilt gnawed at him for not seeing them off. The third time, he hid himself from sight, unable to face those pleading eyes. And then the fourth, the fifth, the sixth.

He didn't say anything, ever, didn't smile reassuringly, not even to himself. He just watched.

He was told they were going to Algeria.

He thought on a constant basis about Norway and Denmark. His brothers, figuratively speaking. They hadn't come to storm Ottoman's house and get him back—which would be a stupid move diplomatically, so he didn't blame them—but they also hadn't come to discuss what had happened to him civilly. Greece said plenty of letters came from Denmark asking for negotiations, but he didn't know if that was true or the lethargic nation was just trying to cheer him up.

There were still a few Icelander's around, but he knew that they would be gone very soon. Ten years, they'd been around and lived, and they would either die or be sold on the Barbary Coast or Albania or wherever they were supposed to be headed nowadays. At least, that was Iceland pretty much figured. He wasn't a stupid kid.

"Hey, brat," Iceland's head snapped up, hearing Ottoman likely addressing Greece (he never called Egypt or Hungary or anyone else 'brat' as often as Greece), "I'm goin' out to finish up some business. Stay out of trouble."

"Take your time, old man," came Greece's sleepy and uncaring reply.

"Yeah, right, that'll happen." Ottoman's voice was laced with sarcasm, "Make sure the kid doesn't get in trouble, either, all right?" Iceland pretty much acknowledged now his life here was as 'the kid'. Better than 'the brat', anyway. "I know he's taken a liking to you." He was mildly surprised at Ottoman's knowing who he had taken to since his stay, since the old man was usually off doing business with the other nations.

Never Denmark, he remembered sourly.

"Iceland will be fine," Greece yawned. "Because, unlike some empires, he's not loud and annoying. See you later."

* * *

><p>Ten years, and nothing.<p>

Denmark had tried anything to see if he could take action to retrieve Iceland. He still pestered Christian on a regular basis. He pestered _Ottoman_ on a regular basis. He went to Iceland's homeland constantly, asking people what they saw and how everything went down and if they knew where a little kid with white hair went. He tried to call it politics or diplomacy or a war or whatever could get him to get Iceland.

No results.

Goose egg.

Zero.

He was sulking in his house after another idea had been shot down by Christian IV, who still insisted that they shouldn't make a move over a kidnapping of four hundred people ("And a _nation_! And they _killed_ a lot of other people, too!" as Denmark so often pointed out).

Norway still hadn't forgiven him for his screw-up, either.

So, when he answered the door, the last thing he expected was to see Ottoman staring at him with a polite smile.

He almost fell over.

Before the northern empire could think of anything to say, the Mediterranean nation spoke. "So, I've talked it over with Algeria, and we decided that for a fee, we will return some of your Icelanders."

"Including _Iceland_," Denmark said immediately, narrowing his eyes, thinking, calculating, knowing he had to include that detail or loopholes would ensue. He would make sure they wouldn't.

"Including Iceland," Ottoman smirked.

"Great! I knew you'd come around eventually!" Ottoman's smirk morphed into a shocked frown as an ecstatic Denmark attacked the older nation with a hug. "Let's go talk to Christian! Or King Christian IV of the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway or whatever it is I'm supposed to introduce him as!"

Price discussions did not go as well. Christian, the only one with real authority in this decision, wanted to lower prices, while Ottoman had nothing of it. Eventually Norway started arguing in his creepy-composed way, both with their king and the Mediterranean empire about the prices for returning the Icelanders ("Only a fraction," as Ottoman reminded them).

Denmark quickly settled that.

They were getting Iceland back.

* * *

><p>"Kid." Iceland looked up from the book he read—or, at least, tried to read. He could only really interpret the pictures to the best of his ability. Damn Turks and their stupid foreign language. "Pack up." <em>Because I have so much to pack?<em> Was _he_ the one going to Algeria now?

"Why?" The one word was quiet, hardly curious, mostly dull. "Where am I going?"

"Presumably Copenhagen but I could just be sending you back to Iceland." He froze, his breath hitched in his throat. He stared at the Ottoman Empire with wide violet eyes, uncomprehending and unblinking. Shellshocked. "Are you listening, kid? I just said you're going home."

"Really?" He didn't want to acknowledge it, but after only a decade that hope seemed far and beyond. A small chance. One in a million.

Well, there's that one.

Ottoman let out a small laugh, amused at his surprised. It almost sounded affectionate, like how Norway would laugh, just a little, when he did something "cute" (according to him). "Yeah, really."

He tried to give a thank you, but shock got in the way of his speech, so he finally just stayed silent. "It was fun having you around, kid," And with that, Ottoman left the room.

* * *

><p>"Norway! Isn't this great? He's coming home!" Denmark was almost circling around his home (and, earlier, Christian's), cleaning and preparing to go to the south to get Iceland. "After ten years! I'm so excited! How old do you think he looks now?"<p>

"Nations tend not to age at the same rate as humans," Norway replied. His voice was calm as always, but Denmark was sure he was excited, "I doubt he looks all that much different."

"He could! They're a lot darker-colored in the south from the sun!"

"Wonderful job stereotyping." Denmark just laughed. "Denmark, when are you leaving to go get him?" He heard the small hint of anxiousness in his friend's voice.

"As soon as possible!" There was no way he was going to wait.

* * *

><p>The first person Iceland told was Greece. Ottoman was right when he said the northern nation had taken a liking to the older nation. Greece was relaxed, easy to get along with, easy to talk to. He wasn't silent and staring like Egypt was, or brash and stubborn like Hungary (who he later met).<p>

"You're going home?" Greece repeated. Iceland saw surprise behind the relaxed expression.

Iceland nodded, a soft smile on his face. "Denmark and Norway finally talked with Ottoman!" Home. _Home_. Norway, Denmark, Iceland.

"So the letters finally got to him," Greece murmured, so quiet that Iceland couldn't hear it.

"What?"

"Nothing," He pet the cat in his hands. "What are Denmark and Norway like?"

Iceland frowned, confused, because Greece had asked that before, a number of times. Whenever the smaller nation was feeling a little bit worse, usually. So he should know what Denmark and Norway are like. "Why?"

"You're always happier talking about them." Greece smiled.

* * *

><p>Denmark was quick to rush the trip to the Ottoman's. He ate and slept very little, instead always looking out ahead to where Iceland was waiting, impatint and bored throughout most of it, ready to just see the little island again.<p>

Ottoman said very little during that time, but he smiled to himself as they traveled. Almost reminiscing-like. Although, one thing he did say struck Denmark as weird. "The kid, Iceland, he's pretty quiet, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he kinda takes after Norway, I guess. Why?"

"It just reminds me of something." And that was it.

He didn't wait to go and find Iceland. The minute they arrived, he was inside the house. He called out "Ice!" as loud as he could (which wasn't hard, given who he was), and searched the halls and the corridors, barging into rooms with hardly an apology asking for a little boy with light hair, until something from behind tugged at the back of his tunic.

That "something" was a white-haired child with puffed out cheeks in a pout, not looking at him, fidgeting with a horribly-hidden happiness. A little more tanned than he remembered, hair longer and less well-kept, but with diverted, wide violet eyes that still had that proud, embarrassed look in them, still a young child that so resembled his "brothers".

That "something" was Iceland.

* * *

><p>Iceland figured in the end he was going to miss having Greece as a friend, and promised to visit as soon as he could (which could or could not be soon, depending on how long Denmark and Norway intended to make sure he was safe).<p>

"You're taking a cat with you, Ice?" Denmark asked. He had had that idiotic grin on his face the entire time he had been there. Iceland didn't hate it. He nodded, cuddling the small white cat Greece had given him. "What about your bird?"

"Mr. Puffin will get along with him." Iceland replied. Mr. Puffin may be a little… opinionated, but surely he could get along with a cute little kitty.

"Fine by me." Denmark patted him on the head again, something he'd been doing a lot since he got here. Like he was making sure Iceland was really standing there in front of him. "You know I'm sorry, right, little bro? Forgive me?"

Iceland eyed the northern empire warily. He had thought plenty about going home, about the Ottoman Empire and the tiny states he possessed like Greece and Egypt, but he had hardly taken into consideration what exactly landed him there in the first place.

Denmark.

Denmark screwed up. Big time.

Couldn't protect him.

But… if he didn't think about it, did that mean he forgave his older "brother"? Or did it just mean he didn't think about it? It meant nothing?

His little mind didn't want to make itself up. "… Maybe."

Denmark seemed to consider that a perfectly acceptable answer, because he just grinned and started babbling about Norway and the others. Iceland smiled softly.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**- Nowadays Greece and Iceland have very good foreign relations, and are even looking to strengthen their relationship! … Take that as you will.

Greece kinda turned out like an older brother to Iceland, I think. :] This has made my head!canon regarding these two.

Review? Pretty pretty pretty please?


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